he opened it. She had intended to be
reproachful, but she could not. This splendid, romantic creature, with
his graceful hat and his golden hair and his velvet collar, was too
compelling, too overpowering. Her adoring love put her at a hopeless
disadvantage. "Oh--Mr. Feuerstein," she murmured, her color coming and
going with the rise and fall of her bosom.

Mr. Feuerstein majestically removed his hat and turned a look of
haughty inquiry upon Otto. Otto's fists clenched--he longed to discuss
the situation in the only way which seemed to him to meet its
requirements.

"Hilda," said the actor, when he thought there had been a long enough
pause for an imposing entrance, "I have come to end the deception--to
make you, before the world, as you are before Almighty God, my
affianced bride."

"You--you mustn't," implored Hilda, her fears getting the better of her
awe.

"If my parents learn now--just now, they will--oh, it will be hopeless!"

"I can not delay, angel of my heart!" He gave her the look that is the
theatrical convention for love beyond words. "It must be settled at
once. I must know my fate. I must put destiny to the touch and know
happiness or--hell!"

"Bah!" thought Otto. "He has to hurry matters--he must be in trouble.
He's got to raise the wind at once."

"Mr. Feuerstein--Carl!" pleaded Hilda. "PLEASE try to be practical."
She went up to him, and Otto turned away, unable to bear the sight of
that look of love, tenderness and trust. "You must not--at least, not
right away." She turned to Otto. "Help me, Otto. Explain to him."

Heilig tried to put courtesy in his voice as he said to Mr. Feuerstein:
"Miss Brauner is right. You'll only wreck her--her happiness. We're
plain people down here and don't understand these fine, grand ways.
You must pass as my friend whom I brought here--but I make one
condition." He drew a long breath and looked at Hilda. For the first
time she heard him, the real Otto Heilig, speak. "Hilda," he went on,
"I don't want to hurt you--I'd do anything for you, except hurt you.
And I can't stand for this fel--for Mr. Feuerstein, unless you'll
promise me you won't marry him, no matter what he may say, until your
father has had a chance to find out who and what he is."

Mr. Feuerstein drew himself up grandly. "Who is this person, Miss
Brauner?" he demanded with haughty coldness.

"He don't know any better," she replied hurriedly. "He's an old
friend. Trust me,